Authors: Thomas Laird
I
wal
k
bac
k
t
o
th
e
geolog
y
roo
m.
I’v
e
lef
t
m
y
ba
g
ou
t
i
n
th
e
hallwa
y.I
reac
h
dow
n
an
d
tak
e
i
t
u
p
a
s
I
pro
p
th
e
broo
m
handl
e
agains
t
th
e
bric
k
wal
l
.
Whe
n
I
wal
k
i
n,I
se
e
th
e
blond
e
teache
r
ha
s
lef
t
th
e
roo
m.I
begi
n
t
o
pani
c.
Ho
w
coul
d
sh
e
hav
e
lef
t
thi
s
abruptl
y?
The
n
I
se
e
al
l
o
f
he
r
paperwor
k
ha
s
bee
n
gathere
d
an
d
remove
d
a
s
wel
l
.
I
fin
d
m
y
jacke
t
i
n
th
e
ba
g,
an
d
I
pu
t
i
t
o
n.
It’
s
bluster
y
an
d
col
d
tonigh
t
.
Sh
e
canno
t
hav
e
gotte
n
fa
r
i
f
she’
s
outsid
e.
Bu
t
i
f
I
pursu
e
he
r,
ther
e
ar
e
al
l
th
e
variable
s
o
f
catchin
g
he
r
an
d
workin
g
o
n
he
r
outdoor
s.
I’v
e
go
t
n
o
choic
e.
I’v
e
com
e
thi
s
fa
r.
I’v
e
go
t
order
s
t
o
fil
l
an
d
mile
s
t
o
g
o
befor
e
I
slee
p
.
I
tro
t
dow
n
th
e
hallwa
y
an
d
the
n
I
bol
t
ou
t
th
e
exi
t.I
sto
p
an
d
loo
k.I
don’
t
se
e
he
r
a
t
firs
t
.
She’
s
abou
t
fiv
e
fee
t
si
x,
abou
t
12
5
pound
s.
Nic
e
tit
s,
eve
n
thoug
h
sh
e
trie
s
t
o
hid
e
the
m
unde
r
a
n
oversize
d
whit
e
blous
e.I
neve
r
sa
w
th
e
botto
m
hal
f
o
f
he
r,
bu
t
I
ca
n
imagin
e
she’
s
go
t
th
e
kin
d
o
f
bod
y
I
coul
d
enjo
y,
i
f
I
ha
d
th
e
tim
e
t
o
enjo
y
i
t
.
I
wal
k
ou
t
int
o
th
e
darknes
s
o
f
th
e
campu
s.
It’
s
the
n
tha
t
I
mak
e
he
r
ou
t.
It’
s
beginnin
g
t
o
drizzl
e,
s
o
ther
e
i
s
n
o
on
e
els
e
ou
t
her
e.
I
f
i
t
become
s
an
y
colde
r,
thi
s
drizzl
e
migh
t
tur
n
t
o
ic
e.
I
t
feel
s
frost
y
enoug
h
.
She’
s
walkin
g
towar
d
th
e
school’
s
lagoo
n,
he
r
briefcas
e
ful
l
o
f
paper
s
cramme
d
u
p
unde
r
he
r
righ
t
ar
m.
Whe
n
I
clos
e
i
n
o
n
he
r,I
ca
n
se
e
tha
t
he
r
rea
r
en
d
i
s
jus
t
a
s
juic
y
a
s
th
e
fron
t
tors
o.
Wh
y
woul
d
a
woma
n
a
s
rip
e
a
s
thi
s
hav
e
mad
e
a
lif
e
i
n
th
e
stud
y
o
f
rock
s
?
I
clos
e
th
e
bloc
k
betwee
n
he
r
an
d
m
e
ver
y
quickl
y.
Ther
e
ar
e
n
o
lover
s
dow
n
b
y
th
e
universit
y
lagoo
n
becaus
e
o
f
th
e
element
s.
An
d
becaus
e
i
t
i
s
Frida
y
nigh
t,
ba
r
nigh
t
o
n
thi
s
campu
s,
ther
e
ar
e
n
o
lonel
y
stroller
s
t
o
interrup
t
m
e
.
Th
e
distanc
e
i
s
dow
n
t
o
a
quarte
r
o
f
a
bloc
k
whe
n
sh
e
drop
s
th
e
briefcas
e
.
‘Ca
n
I
hel
p
yo
u?’
I
as
k
he
r.
She’
s
stil
l
ben
t
ove
r,
tryin
g
t
o
pic
k
u
p
th
e
mes
s
she’
s
mad
e
.
Whe
n
sh
e
stand
s
straigh
t,
sh
e
shove
s
he
r
eyeglasse
s
bac
k
u
p
ont
o
he
r
nos
e.
He
r
gestur
e
inflame
s
m
e.
The
n
I
se
e
tha
t
she’
s
startle
d
b
y
m
y
presenc
e
.